


honeysuckle heart

by jeserai



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F, Hanahaki Disease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25985464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeserai/pseuds/jeserai
Summary: If Adora tries to think of when she first fell for Catra, she can’t quite remember; it was a slow, building thing that crashed over all at once like a wave when Catra looked at her on that fateful evening and laughed, and the waning sunlight caught her eyes and made them shine as she looked at Adora like a treasure, and—
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 102





	honeysuckle heart

Adora knows that it's time to tell Catra when the flowers she has long since gotten used to begin to leave her mouth stained red. It hadn't been all that bad in the first few months; just a tickle in the back of her throat that never quite completely left, just the coughing fits that left her dizzy as her body tried and failed to get rid of its intruder, just the petals that she'd pull from her mouth and spit out into the toilet, more and more each day.

So—it's honestly kind of bad.

But it's bearable, because it means that she gets to stay close to Catra. It'd been something like love at first sight on Adora's end (because who could not be instantly enamored by Catra?) but her feelings had gradually deepened over time into something much more real.

She wouldn't have really called it love though, but—

The once golden (now pale red) petals that stain her floors say otherwise.

If Adora tries to think of when she first fell for Catra, she can’t quite remember; it was a slow, building thing that crashed over all at once like a wave when Catra looked at her on that fateful evening and  _ laughed,  _ and the waning sunlight caught her eyes and made them shine as she looked at Adora like a treasure, and—

That’s when the tickle in her throat started, something she couldn’t quite cough away, something that not even Catra’s teas would soothe.

All Adora knows is that she’s fallen for Catra’s quirk-mouthed smile, fallen for the way her eyes light up when she’s amused, fallen for the cadence of her voice whenever she spins tales for the village children. She’s fallen for the way she always smells faintly of cinnamon spice, and for the way her fingers smoothe over herbs and gleaming stones, for the way she’d bitten her lip raw as she placed the little sweet-smelling sachet around Adora’s neck. (A spell was written through it, Catra had said, in scents of lavender and rosemary, in beads of rose quartz and amber, for sweet dreams and sweeter love.

Adora has one of those, and the other—)

She has fallen hopelessly in love with Catra, and she knows now that Catra does not love her back. And how could she? What future could Adora possibly give her with her meager blacksmith’s wages, when Catra herself had already been courted for months now by those richer and altogether  _ better  _ than her?

(Catra tells Adora of the dates that she calls disasters, and tragedies, and countless other rude things when it is just the two of them in the back of her tiny shop, surrounded by things that Adora can never hope to name and that make her feel fuzzy all over. Or maybe it’s just being close to Catra that does that.)

But now,

Adora squares her shoulders as she stops in front of Catra’s shop, and before she can lose her nerve, pushes her way inside and further in, all the way to the backroom where Catra is bent over a gem, smoothing it down with careful strokes of sandpaper.

“Knock knock,” she says quietly, but Catra still jumps and squeaks, and Adora can’t help the laugh that bubbles up despite having to choke it back, despite how Catra scowls at her.

“What do you want, other than to scare me half to death?”

“I—have to tell you something.”

Maybe she knows, just part of it, by the look on Adora’s face, because Catra stands to quiet her, and brushes past her with a quiet, “Come upstairs.”

So Adora follows her upstairs into the little hovel that Catra has made her second home (her first is a cottage in the middle of the woods, which is cozy and gorgeous and much too far away from town for her to make proper use of her budding business in town) and joins Catra in sitting down on one of the pillows covering the living room floor.

Even with the added time Catra’s given her to think, Adora can’t think of any eloquent way to say what she needs to say. She’s never really been  _ good  _ with words, not like Catra; she needs to use her hands, and her body, and her  _ actions,  _ not her words. But this—she needs to do at least  _ this  _ confession justice, for Catra.

She needs Catra to know just why she’s chosen what she has, and she needs Catra to know that whatever happens, she’ll still and always love her.

“Adora, you know you don’t have to force yourself to tell me, right?”

Adora shakes her head, then nods. “I know, I just—I  _ have  _ to tell you now. I think if I don’t, I never will, and...you of all people deserve to know.”

Catra hums, but does not speak, so Adora continues. “I—I didn’t want to admit it, but it’s been getting worse, and now it’s...bad. And I know you’re going to be upset, but I  _ have  _ to do this, so just—” Adora makes the mistake of glancing up at Catra and falters, tongue suddenly turned to lead in her mouth.

“Are you...in some kind of trouble? Do you need—”

Before Catra can offer to help, Adora blurts out, “There are flowers growing in my lungs and I  _ know  _ why, and I  _ know  _ who, but I  _ can’t... _ I can’t give this up.”

Catra’s whole face softens, melts into something so achingly  _ sad  _ that Adora feels the familiar tug of flowers in her throat. “Hey, we’ll...we’ll figure this out. If there’s some kind of spell…?”

“No, I don’t...I’ve already made my choice, Catra. I just needed to tell you, that’s all.”

“But why...oh. _ Oh,  _ Adora, please don’t tell me it’s... _ please  _ don’t do this.”

But it is, and she has. “Perfuma’s the only one that knows, even if it was just by accident. She said they’re honeysuckles, that that’s supposed to mean devoted affection and bonds of love—”

Abruptly, Catra stands, face blank. “If you’re going to do this—”  _ to me,  _ “and if it’s as bad as you say it is, at least...let me make you tea, just one more time.”

It feels like she is asking for something else, but Adora can’t piece the meaning together, so she just nods and watches helplessly as Catra turns away from her and heads to the kitchen. It is quiet, and cold in Catra’s absence, and Adora fills it by fiddling with the sachet that is still snug around her neck after so many months. It’s practically falling to pieces now, but it’s too comforting to not take off, and it was from  _ Catra. _

“Here, love. Sprigs of lavender, lemon balm and chamomile to soothe—and orange peel, vanilla, and a bit of honey and milk to make it all the sweeter.” Catra rattles off the ingredients as if to a customer, and Adora gratefully takes the cup offered to her with a murmured thanks.

As she sips her drink, Catra runs the tip of her finger around the rim of her own cup, chewing at her lip as she tries to figure out what to say. Eventually, she whispers, “If it was because of...that night when we...I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you, I just—I  _ can’t,  _ Adora.”

“I loved you before then,” Adora shrugs, “and I think I’ll always love you. But it wasn’t your fault, none of it. So don’t be upset, okay?”

When Catra looks up now, Adora is surprised to find her cheeks wet with tears. “ _ Don’t  _ tell me what to feel here, not when you’re telling me that you’d rather _ — _ ” Catra’s voice slips into a sob, just one, before she takes a deep breath and very steadily continues. “If you’re going to do this, let me remember you.”

Adora’s heart thuds hard in her chest, and she nods, statue-still even as Catra places her cup down and crawls closer to move Adora’s away too. Stays still even as Catra’s hands (warm and calloused but still so gentle, so soft) cup her cheeks and feather across her face as if trying to memorize her by touch, stays still even as Catra stares hard at her for a long few moments and then kisses her, slow and deep and bruisingly deep.

Catra touches her like she is made of glass, kisses her like she is the only bit of oxygen left in the world, and Adora is overwhelmed from the start, but she accepts the hand offered to her when Catra finally stands, and follows her into the bedroom that she’s only seen once before.

In the end, they do little more than touch, to learn and commit to memory each curve as plane, and all the while, Catra’s cheeks are wet with tears despite how many times Adora smooths them away. Distantly, Adora is aware that Catra is saying something, but she’s suddenly  _ exhausted,  _ and as she slowly drifts off, Catra settles down too, fitting herself into Adora like she can’t help but to be as close as she can be.

(When Adora wakes, she has a splitting headache, and she rolls over with a groan as she tries to fall back asleep. But now something is pressing uncomfortably against the side of her neck, and she fumbles for it, coming up with a little packet on a cord wrapped around her neck. It smells good despite how worn it is, and looking at it makes her feel sad for some reason, but—

Adora shrugs, and takes it off, and throws it away. It  _ is  _ pretty old after all.)


End file.
